


you fit against me so perfectly (don't you think?)

by cherrykirsch



Category: Kamen Rider Build
Genre: Character Study, Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Making Out, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 19:38:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13508400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrykirsch/pseuds/cherrykirsch
Summary: Banjou needs a shoulder to lean on, and Misora's always listened before.





	you fit against me so perfectly (don't you think?)

**Author's Note:**

> Build is my current obsession and though I'm new to the Kamen Rider fandom, I thought I'd write a little fic!
> 
> Enjoy!

Banjou looks up at the sky and wonders what exactly got him here in the first place.

It had been years since he’d last stepped foot into a children’s park—in fact, the last time was with Kasumi. It was on one of her better days, and he pushed her on the swing and spun on the merry-go-round with her until they both felt sick and were laughing so hard they couldn’t stop. They ate ice cream and drunk soda and exchanged small, discrete kisses underneath the shade of green trees, and they walked home hand in hand, matching child-like smiles on their faces.

This park was different. It had been singed and burned by the recent attacks, and, since it was winter there was little to no greenery to be seen; it was all bare trees with branches like bone fingers, and grey, overcast skies. Still, there was something very… comforting about it.

He’s broken from his train of thought by something can-like and cold dropping on his stomach, and when he looks up, jerking into an upright position, he sees Misora staring at him, a small smile on her lips. He picks the can off of his abdomen and runs his thumb over the label—iced coffee.

He raises an eyebrow. “I thought all the vending machines around here were broke.” He says and Misora shrugs.

“I stopped at one a couple of streets away.” She says. “I pressed the dispense button and six of these came out.”

Banjou looks curiously at the can. “So you didn’t pay? Isn’t that illegal?”

Misora cracks open her can. “Since when did you care what was legal or not?” She asks softly, giving him a smile. “Besides, I don’t think the police are really worried about me taking can of coffee from vending machines right now.” She says, and, really, Banjou couldn’t argue with that.

He shrugs, cracks open his can, and taps the side of it against hers, taking a long gulp while Misora lifts the rim of hers to her lips and takes a small sip, watching carefully. As he swallows his mouthful of coffee, he takes in a deep breath and exhales slowly, lifting his face up to the sky.

“So,” Misora begins, tapping her nails on the sides of the can. It makes a nice sound, Banjou realizes, like rain pattering gently on a tin roof. “Why did you come here? You don’t look like you’re under the age of ten.” She says, gesturing off-handedly to a sign posted by the entrance to the park which clearly stated that the park was for children aged ten and younger.

Banjou shrugs. “What can I say? I like embracing my inner child.” He says, lifting his can to his lips to gulp down the rest of the contents before he crushes the thin aluminum between two palms and throws it into the bin. “Whatcha say, ‘Sora?” He asks, gesturing exaggeratedly towards the slightly-dented swing set. “Wanna embrace your inner child with me?”

Misora smiles and follows him to the swing set, taking a seat on the swing next to his. When he sits down, heavily, with the entire force of his body, the swing set lurches and Misora shrieks, laughing as she grips tightly onto the chains holding the swing to the frame. Banjou laughs too, and props everything back up by resting his feet on the ground, swinging back of forth by pushing and pulling himself closer to his knees.

“Why did you really come here?” Misora asks him, and Banjou shrugs. “You don’t have to do that all the time, you know.”

Banjou slowly turns to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Do what?” He asks.

Misora kicks her feet into the dirt and sighs. “Pretend like you don’t care all the time.” She says. “You do this weird thing – Sento does it too sometimes – where you get so angry and caught up in everything that you pretend like you don’t care. It’s not good, you shouldn’t do it.”

“I don’t do that.” Banjou says, his brows furrowed. 

“But you do.” Misora says. “And I’m not saying it’s your fault. It’s what you’re used to. All I’m saying is… you can talk to us about whatever you’re going through. Sento, Sawa and I. We’re always gonna be here to hear you out.”

Banjou claps his hands in front of him and nods, turns his face up to the sky and closes his eyes. “Okay.” Banjou says. 

“Good.” Misora replies, before she pauses, thinks. “Do you want to talk about why you’re really here?”

Banjou considers this, momentarily in his mind. Misora was a good listener, she knew how to do a thousand knots and how to chain someone to a scaffolding beam, she knew how to get her way when she wanted to, and she seemed to be a voice of reason to Sento.

Then, he looks at her. He looks at her, and he thinks it wouldn’t be so bad to talk to her about everything, really. 

“I went to a park like this with Kasumi once, it was… nice.” He says simply. “I was just looking for a place to think, and this was here… so…”

Misora nods in understanding, ignoring the ache in her chest. “Do you think about her often?” She asks. 

He thinks, then, slowly, shakes his head. “Not really, but I feel guilty about it. Y’know? I used to see her so clearly, but now she’s all fuzzy around the edges.” He sighs, looks down at his clasped hands. “I just feel… bad.”

“Why?” She asks carefully. 

“Because… I’m moving on, and she can’t.” Banjou says, and Misora realizes that this is something bigger than just Kasumi and his role as Cross-Z. This is about Banjou. “Because… I’m not doing my best here. And Sento, man… just Sento.”

Misora snorts, gives him a smile. “What about him?” She asks. 

Banjou makes a noise and waves his hands in an off-handed kind of way. “Everything. Fuck.” He says, and then he laughs in a weird self-depreciating way that doesn’t make Misora feel very good. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to try and explain it?” Misora asks and Banjou thinks for a moment.

“It’s like… Sento’s a great guy, and he’s great at what he does.” Banjou begins, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else with the technology and rider stuff. He knows what he’s doing. Me? I don’t know what I’m doing with the drivers on a good day.” He chuckles a little at that. “But… he’s also so frustrating! I just wanna— y’know?” Banjou says, making a strangling gesture in front of him before he turns to Misora for her response. 

She nods and stands up, tucking her arms behind her back as she walks to the metal frame and leans against it. “No, I get it. I’ve lived with him for a while now, I know how it is.” She says in way of explanation. “But… I wouldn’t strangle him.” She points out and Banjou smiles a little and drops his hands into his lap.

“Okay.” Banjou says, folding his arms across his chest. “What would you have me do then?” 

Misora considers this for a moment before she gives him a smile. “Well, I would have you put up with him and what he does.” She says. “More than you think is necessary. Make sure you make him step away from his work once in a while. Put up with him. He really cares, y’know? About you. Even if he doesn’t show it all that often.”

Banjou tilts his head, laughs a little and looks down at his feet, and then back at her. “How can you tell?” he asks her softly.

She grins. “That’s easy. “He won’t let you use the Sclash Driver because he’s worried about its effect on your body.” She says, leaning forward to poke him in the shoulder. “And he wouldn’t let you use the Build Driver because he thought you’d use it to rush into things because he didn’t want you getting hurt.”

Misora lifts herself from the swing set frame and leans forward to take Banjou’s hands in her own, pulling him up and onto his feet. “He cares a lot about you, okay? You just don’t see it because you have a tendency to be a little rash. And if I’m not wrong, then I know that you care a lot about him too.”

Banjou nods and allows Misora to lead him to the merry-go-around, dropping her hands to jump up onto the metal contraption and lean back against the bars. “I do care about him.” Banjou says after a moment. “Sometimes.”

Misora gives him a look, stares him down until he gives in.

He laughs. “Most times, then.” He says, holding his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender. “It’s just… He hasn’t smiled in a while has he?” He asks and Misora’s brows furrow, concern dripping into her eyes like water from a leaky faucet. “I can’t blame him, though; he thinks it’s his fault that’s everything’s like…” Banjou waves his hand around. “This.”

 Misora looks around the park and imagines how colorful it must’ve been when there were kids playing here and not just two twenty-somethings who lost a lot too soon and didn’t have anything but each other and an elusive scientist who didn’t talk about his problems.

“It’s a shame,” Misora says, mostly to herself. “Kids can’t play in the park anymore. They shouldn’t be brought into this war.”

Banjou hops onto the merry-go-round, leaving Misora to stagger slowly as it spins under the force. “That’s why I want to end this war as soon as possible.” He says. “So that kids can play in parks again; so that Sento can smile again. He’s done so much for me… I want to do this for him.”

Misora smiles at him. “How does your one-man-army plan to take down an entire third of a country?” She asks, a little teasingly, and Banjou rolls his eyes.

“You can laugh if you want. It’s okay.” He says, but by the tone of his voice, Misora can tell he doesn’t want her laughing at this. It’s too personal, and she’s afraid that if she laughs now he won’t talk to her like this again—that they won’t ever be this close again.

And she likes being this close to Banjou. She likes feeling the warmth of his body across from hers, likes how when her arm brushes against his she can smell the faint scent of his cologne, likes how he smiles and laughs at things. She likes a lot of things, about the world outside the café and the things she used to use to make her life inside it a little bit of brighter, and she thinks that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she likes Banjou as well.

So, she gives him a gentle smile, tilts her head slightly and blinks at him with her innocent eyes and says, “I’m not laughing.”, and Banjou stops and looks at her. Really looks at her. Like he’s seeing her for the first time, like she’s just told him something Earth shaking, like (maybe) he could see her as someone other than the naïve, cold, defenseless Misora he’s had her pegged as all this time. Like he could see her as someone warm and kind and kind-of beautiful.

And it only lasts a moment.

Because Banjou turns away and steps half off the merry-go-round and looks down at his feet, beginning to push it back and forth absentmindedly as he thinks about what to say next. Misora feels a mix of embarrassment and shame make its way into her chest and she has to squeeze her eyes shut and take a deep breath to clear her head. 

“If I’d never met Sento…” Banjou begins and Misora’s eyes snap open to meet his form. “I don’t think I’d have trusted people as much as I do now.” He says.

Hands shaking, she moves closer to him, allows her hands to close tight around the bars of the merry-go-round. “Neither would I.” She tells Banjou softly and, slowly, he looks up and into her eyes. “If I’d never met Sento…” Her eyes travel down, down, from the warm brown of his iris’ to the curve of the bridge of his nose and to his lips, slightly parted in breath, and she has to force her eyes back up. “I wouldn’t have been able to trust you.”

Banjou sucks in a shaky breath, and Misora allows herself to think that the twitch of his eyes down is him staring at her lips too. Like a schoolgirl, she allows the darkest depth of her mind to convince her that he likes her too. “We… we wouldn’t have met if we didn’t meet Sento.”

Misora swallows thickly, nods in agreement. “No.” She agrees.

“That…” Banjou begins, and Misora watches in fascination as his tongue pokes between his lips to wet them. “Would have been a shame. You’re pretty cool.”

She gives him a half-smile, lets her eyes travel oh-too-slowly up to his, meet them with a gaze that she’s never felt before, really. “You’re pretty cool too.” She tells him quietly, and she’s suddenly aware how close they are. She can smell his cologne, the faint smell of sweat and soot and dirt on him, she could lean forward if she wanted and taste his lips. She wonders, absently, if his lips would taste like coffee. “If we’d never met, that would have been…” She loses the word before it gets to her mouth, distracted.

Banjou sucks in a deep breath and pushes himself back from the merry-go-round with the same force of a recovering addict pushing away the thing their hooked on—as if it pains him, as if he can’t stand the thought of living without it now he has it so close. He staggers backwards. 

“Sad.” He finishes, turning from her to climb the jungle gym.

“I would’ve said a tragedy.” Misora says breathlessly as she climbs from the merry-go-round and makes her way over to the jungle gym.

“You would be overdramatic.” Banjou says, a little more harshly than Misora thinks he intents. “But… I’ve got to be there for Sento. This time, I’ve got to be his strength.” He says, and, to make a point she guesses, he lifts his arm and flexes his bicep before he looks down at her with a grin that could rival the sun. “Right?” he asks.

Misora feels like all the air inside of her lungs has been sucked out of her. She feels as light as a cloud, made of nothing but euphoric happiness and the delusion that maybe Banjou like her—could be falling in love her like she was falling in love with him.

She finds herself smiling up at him, taking in a breath that does nothing to stop her entire body feeling like it’s burning up under the warmth of his smile as she says, “You’ve grown up, Banjou.”.

He slides down the kiddy slide, lands on his butt in the gravel at the bottom, stands up and brushes himself off before he turns to Misora, glaring slightly. “Shut up.” He says.

Misora looks at him. “Make me.” She tells him.

Banjou stalks up to her like a panther watching its prey before leaping, like a hawk about to swoop down onto a mouse. He backs her up onto the cool metal of the jungle gym, stares at her with a darkness and emotion in his eyes that she can’t quite place and it hits her. Banjou is the panther, the hawk; and she (naïve, cold, defenseless Misora) is the prey, she’s the mouse. It makes her heart leap in her chest.

Then, he surges forward, captures her lips with a ferocity that makes her feel double breathless, double light, and makes her fingers close around the silken sleeves of his bomber jacket, grip tight on the muscular curves of his biceps. It knocks her off guard. He consumes her with the passion a dragon would have for its most prized treasure, and she allows herself to drown in it—the feeling of him over her like this, covering her like icing on sponge cake and masking her from the view of world like the moon does during a solar eclipse, coating her from head to toe in a warm like she’s just been dunked into a bath of delightfully warm water.

Too soon, he pulls back, stares at her, his chest heaving and his lips red, the taste of her mouth in his, her saliva mingled with his. They fit together, she thinks; like pie and cream, and lemonade and summer, and bread and butter. Her lips fit against his well, and she wants to feel them again, she wants to taste him. But she just stares at him, allows her hands to fall to her sides and waits.

She wants him to make the first move. She doesn’t want to scare him with how desperate she was (is) to feel him.

Slowly, Banjou reaches for her, to cup her cheek with a rough hand, and she shivers. He flinches a little, almost draws back. “Are you afraid of me?” He asks, and Misora shakes her head. 

“Not of you.” She assures quietly, lifts a hand to press his more firmly against her cheek. 

He peers curiously at her then, moves closer. “What of?” he asks and she can feel herself crumbling slowly in his finger like sand. 

She swallows thickly, keeps eye contact with him as she forces the words through her lips. “Of this. Us.” She says and Banjou doesn’t react. “I don’t want you to regret this. Do something you don’t want to do. I’m afraid… of what this means.”

“Do you regret this?” He asks.

Misora sucks in a breath, and she finds herself gripping at the front of his shirt, trying to tug him closer to her because he’s too far away. “Never.” She says with as much conviction as she can muster with how desperate she is. “I could never regret this because it’s _you_ , Banjou Ryuuga.”

He tenses a little at the sound of his name passing her lips and he allows himself to be pulled closer to her, let’s her tilt her head up to his, reach up on her tiptoes to press her lips against his, but he leans back, stops short to peer into her eyes. His eyes darken and sparkle at the look of hers.

“I don’t regret this.” Banjou growls low and wanting and in a way that makes Misora want to melt into him, in a way that turns her heart into a puddle of goo. “I want to kiss you.” He continues, his chest heaving with the force of it, and Misora waits for the next words, the one that could bring her to her knees in front of him. Just for him; only for him. “ _I want you_.”

This time, it is her that surges forward, throwing her arms around the back of his neck to pull him close to her as she slots her lips against his with abandon. His hands tug her body closer to his as they kiss, trying to pull her closer though she’s already as close as she can get to him, but she gets it—she knows how the desperation feels, how it crawls under your skin and invades your every thought until it’s all you can think about, and she could only think of Banjou, and now he only thinks of her.

 _Her_. She can almost hear him whisper it as he lifts his lips from hers and trails his down her jaw, the column of her neck. Pressing sweet kisses and hungry nips to the soft, sensitive skin there, and she grips his jacket tighter, allows a small whimper to pass his lips.

 _Him_. She whispers it into his hair before she lifts his face from her neck and presses a firm kiss against his lips and then dips her head down to kiss him where he kisses her. She makes her way across the valley of his neck like a wanderer, stopping here and there to worship his skin, taking extra care to kiss his Adam’s apple.

 _Her_. He pushes her back and captures her lips more forcefully, more controlling, and she happily shrinks beneath him, allows him to control this as his tongue prods at her lips and his hand tugs at her jacket, pulls it away from her body to allow it to slip under her clothes and feel her there. His rough hands against her soft skin, carefully tracing across her stomach, gripping at the curve of her hips. He’s hungry for her.

They pull back at the same time, and they stare at each other for a while. She feels hazy, her head feels too light and her body feels too hot, and if he’s hungry for her then she’s drunk for him; And that’s how she feels, drunk. Drunk on him like champagne, something bubbly and giddy—and drunk on him like liquor, something warm and dark. If this is what feeling drunk someone feels like, warm and euphoric, she never wants to not feel like this.

“Banjou.” Misora says, and her voice feels faint.

Banjou swallows, watches her lips as his Adam’s apple bobs. “Misora.” He replies.

It’s too much for her. For both of them, she assumes. Neither one quite sure of what to say, if they should say anything. She knows he wants to ask her about it, and she wants him too, but he doesn’t, and instead his breathes deeply and rests his forehead against hers.

“Can—” Banjou begins before he cuts himself off, and his voice is too loud, too bright for the moment they just shared. “Would… Would you like to do that again with me sometime?” he asks.

Misora nods. “I would like that.” She tells him. “Banjou?” She says, catching herself off guard by saying his name, full to the brim with confidence.

He looks at her. “Yeah?” He asks.

And, for the second time in her life, Misora falters, the confession falling on her tongue, the words dying on her lips. In his eyes, she sees vulnerability, she sees hurt and pain and so she stops herself, swallows the wave of emotion threatening to swallow her and holds him gently. Cradles his head in her hands like he’s a baby, something that needs to be protected and kisses him temple slowly, softly and gently.

“It’s okay.” She tells him gently, quietly, so only he can hear. “I’ve got you.”

In her hands, the gentle caress of her fingers and the warmth of his lips against his skin, he falls apart. He sobs and cries as Misora holds him, comforts him, strokes his hair and tells him everything is going to be okay. Because it is.

Even if he doesn’t believe it.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: [ cherry-kirsch ](cherry-kirsch.tumblr.com) || twitter: [ cherriwrites ](https://twitter.com/cherriwrites)


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